MASSACHUSETTS, August 5, 2011
Dear Friends and Relatives,
I would have written on Friday night, but after having gotten up at 3:45 a.m. on that day, having traveled to Boston and motored on to Hamilton, Massachusetts, sightseeing along the way, I was too tired to even contemplate putting anything coherent together. However, it is now Saturday, and I am going to re-create both days for you, if I can.
As abovementioned, I arose at 3:45 a.m. and motored away to Hart's house at 4:00 a.m. in order that the shuttle might pick me up between 4:40 and 5:00 a.m. for the 6:55 a.m. flight. I got there at about 4:10, parking in front of the house. However, all of a sudden I perceived a police car prowling through the neighborhood, and before I knew it, one had turned the corner and was heading my way. All of a sudden I became aware that I looked very suspicious sitting in front of a house--almost as if I were "casing the joint." I ducked as the cruiser came towards me, and it slowed down to a very slow pace until I almost thought I had been nabbed! However, then the headlights faded and, to attract no more attention, I soon left thereafter for a cruise around the neighborhood so he wouldn't come back a second time. I returned at 4:30, got my luggage out and sat on the front porch, listening to the sounds of silence on a morning that barely dipped below about 86 degrees, with promises of 110 degrees for later in the day. At 4:40 precisely and as promised, the Super Shuttle arrived and I was on my way, along with three other travelers, whom we picked up along the way.
I was the first to be dropped off at Terminal D, the smart and chic international terminal. Security lines, mercifully, weren't too crowded that early in the morning, and I was able to pass on to Gate 37 relatively quickly. I had to go through the new x-ray machine, but as it was quick and painless, didn't know what all the fuss was about. Not long thereafter, seating was called, and I was on my way. I had my new "National Geographic Traveler" magazine with me, which of course gave me all kinds of new ideas for travel next summer (it is not too early to plan!)
We arrived at Boston's Logan Airport right on time, at 11:30 a.m., and it is quite dramatic to fly over the bay, skimming the clouds and the water I retrieved my luggage without any problem, then called Marthe to let her know I had arrived. Right outside Terminal B I stood, and buses, cabs, and vans were whizzing all around me, picking people up and dropping them off. However, no personal pickups were being made by passenger cars, so I called Marthe to ask her what was up. Over the din of buses and cabs I finally heard that she had been routed into the parking lot, and I made my way there and immediately saw her. We hugged, then seriously got around to exiting the airport. As we headed northward out of Boston, we passed through a succession of rich little ports that have been all but swallowed up by the suburbs: Salem, Marblehead, Beverly,and the atmospheric old fishing ports of Gloucester and Rockport.
Salem is remembered less as the site where the colony of Massachusetts was first established than as the place where, 60 years later, Puritan self-righteousness reached its height in the horrific witch trials of 1692. Nineteen Salem women were hanged as witches thanks to a group of impressionable teenage girls who reported as truth a garbled mixture of fireside tales told by a West Indian slave, Tituba.
Then we drove another five miles south and east along the bay from Salem to Marblehead, a lovely waterfront village whose historic homes date back as far as the mid-1700s, and which is known as the birthplace of the US Navy--Washington's first five vessels were built here. In Marblehead we stopped at a wonderful restaurant called Schubie's where we choose lunch from an eclectic selection of meats and vegetables--I had shrimp cakes, sweet potatoes and asparagus tips, and both Marthe and I enjoyed some dark chocolate for dessert before moving on to the town of Beverly, on the north shore and closer to Marthe's town, Hamilton.
In Beverly we drove around the town to inspect the many old houses there, especially one, the Hale Farm, which once had extended almost down to the shore. The house had been painted in a wonderful yellow color and was open for a change, so we stepped inside for a short tour. None of the original furnishings had remained, but we enjoyed, more than anything, viewing the construction of the house, especially the broad, sturdy beams which were original to it.
And finally we were off to the town of Hamilton, which I found out was, at one time, a residence to General George S. Patton (a fact which would have delighted my father, who was a great fan of his). Marthe lives close to the train station, from which it is easy to commute to Boston, and across the street from the Catholic church, in a wonderful 2-story house dating to 1921. It is painted a dark, slaty brown and has black shutters and a generous porch with a hammock. We arrived and met Sarah (Marthe's daughter), her husband Dean, and their new young son and Marthe's grandson, Owen, a nice Welsh name (the latter three live in L.A.). The little one alternated between fussing and smiling, and I got to hold him for a bit! Afterwards, I took photos of Marthe's beautiful house, garden, and her studio; then was assigned a bedroom and unpacked my clothes before accompanying Marthe, Sarah, Dean, and little one to a co-op farm to which Marthe subscribes, where we picked about 6 pints of blueberries (first time I have ever picked blueberries), and where we saw beans, eggplants, corn, and sunflowers growing, as well as pigs, sheep, and chickens--a true farm and one of the most delightful sights one could imagine in that late afternoon mellow light, with a light, caressing breeze blowing--so different from the inferno-like heat we have experienced in Dallas lately.
At 5:00 the farm closed down to clientele for the evening, and we drove home. As Dean and Sarah wanted an evening to go out and have dinner on their own without Owen, Marthe and I kept the little one--actually Marthe did, as I was pretty catatonic after dinner, which consisted of scrumptious fish, an avocado/tomato salad, little potatoes, and green beans, followed by a peach for dessert. We took a short jaunt around the neighborhood, stopping by Patton Park to admire the gun caissons and tank exhibited there. Afterwards, I crashed, as we were going to get a fresh start on Saturday morning for the Augustus St. Gaudens site and needed to get up at 5:00 a.m. Dreamless sleep, and very necessary! As ever, Sylvia
I would have written on Friday night, but after having gotten up at 3:45 a.m. on that day, having traveled to Boston and motored on to Hamilton, Massachusetts, sightseeing along the way, I was too tired to even contemplate putting anything coherent together. However, it is now Saturday, and I am going to re-create both days for you, if I can.
As abovementioned, I arose at 3:45 a.m. and motored away to Hart's house at 4:00 a.m. in order that the shuttle might pick me up between 4:40 and 5:00 a.m. for the 6:55 a.m. flight. I got there at about 4:10, parking in front of the house. However, all of a sudden I perceived a police car prowling through the neighborhood, and before I knew it, one had turned the corner and was heading my way. All of a sudden I became aware that I looked very suspicious sitting in front of a house--almost as if I were "casing the joint." I ducked as the cruiser came towards me, and it slowed down to a very slow pace until I almost thought I had been nabbed! However, then the headlights faded and, to attract no more attention, I soon left thereafter for a cruise around the neighborhood so he wouldn't come back a second time. I returned at 4:30, got my luggage out and sat on the front porch, listening to the sounds of silence on a morning that barely dipped below about 86 degrees, with promises of 110 degrees for later in the day. At 4:40 precisely and as promised, the Super Shuttle arrived and I was on my way, along with three other travelers, whom we picked up along the way.
I was the first to be dropped off at Terminal D, the smart and chic international terminal. Security lines, mercifully, weren't too crowded that early in the morning, and I was able to pass on to Gate 37 relatively quickly. I had to go through the new x-ray machine, but as it was quick and painless, didn't know what all the fuss was about. Not long thereafter, seating was called, and I was on my way. I had my new "National Geographic Traveler" magazine with me, which of course gave me all kinds of new ideas for travel next summer (it is not too early to plan!)
We arrived at Boston's Logan Airport right on time, at 11:30 a.m., and it is quite dramatic to fly over the bay, skimming the clouds and the water I retrieved my luggage without any problem, then called Marthe to let her know I had arrived. Right outside Terminal B I stood, and buses, cabs, and vans were whizzing all around me, picking people up and dropping them off. However, no personal pickups were being made by passenger cars, so I called Marthe to ask her what was up. Over the din of buses and cabs I finally heard that she had been routed into the parking lot, and I made my way there and immediately saw her. We hugged, then seriously got around to exiting the airport. As we headed northward out of Boston, we passed through a succession of rich little ports that have been all but swallowed up by the suburbs: Salem, Marblehead, Beverly,and the atmospheric old fishing ports of Gloucester and Rockport.
Salem is remembered less as the site where the colony of Massachusetts was first established than as the place where, 60 years later, Puritan self-righteousness reached its height in the horrific witch trials of 1692. Nineteen Salem women were hanged as witches thanks to a group of impressionable teenage girls who reported as truth a garbled mixture of fireside tales told by a West Indian slave, Tituba.
Then we drove another five miles south and east along the bay from Salem to Marblehead, a lovely waterfront village whose historic homes date back as far as the mid-1700s, and which is known as the birthplace of the US Navy--Washington's first five vessels were built here. In Marblehead we stopped at a wonderful restaurant called Schubie's where we choose lunch from an eclectic selection of meats and vegetables--I had shrimp cakes, sweet potatoes and asparagus tips, and both Marthe and I enjoyed some dark chocolate for dessert before moving on to the town of Beverly, on the north shore and closer to Marthe's town, Hamilton.
In Beverly we drove around the town to inspect the many old houses there, especially one, the Hale Farm, which once had extended almost down to the shore. The house had been painted in a wonderful yellow color and was open for a change, so we stepped inside for a short tour. None of the original furnishings had remained, but we enjoyed, more than anything, viewing the construction of the house, especially the broad, sturdy beams which were original to it.
And finally we were off to the town of Hamilton, which I found out was, at one time, a residence to General George S. Patton (a fact which would have delighted my father, who was a great fan of his). Marthe lives close to the train station, from which it is easy to commute to Boston, and across the street from the Catholic church, in a wonderful 2-story house dating to 1921. It is painted a dark, slaty brown and has black shutters and a generous porch with a hammock. We arrived and met Sarah (Marthe's daughter), her husband Dean, and their new young son and Marthe's grandson, Owen, a nice Welsh name (the latter three live in L.A.). The little one alternated between fussing and smiling, and I got to hold him for a bit! Afterwards, I took photos of Marthe's beautiful house, garden, and her studio; then was assigned a bedroom and unpacked my clothes before accompanying Marthe, Sarah, Dean, and little one to a co-op farm to which Marthe subscribes, where we picked about 6 pints of blueberries (first time I have ever picked blueberries), and where we saw beans, eggplants, corn, and sunflowers growing, as well as pigs, sheep, and chickens--a true farm and one of the most delightful sights one could imagine in that late afternoon mellow light, with a light, caressing breeze blowing--so different from the inferno-like heat we have experienced in Dallas lately.
At 5:00 the farm closed down to clientele for the evening, and we drove home. As Dean and Sarah wanted an evening to go out and have dinner on their own without Owen, Marthe and I kept the little one--actually Marthe did, as I was pretty catatonic after dinner, which consisted of scrumptious fish, an avocado/tomato salad, little potatoes, and green beans, followed by a peach for dessert. We took a short jaunt around the neighborhood, stopping by Patton Park to admire the gun caissons and tank exhibited there. Afterwards, I crashed, as we were going to get a fresh start on Saturday morning for the Augustus St. Gaudens site and needed to get up at 5:00 a.m. Dreamless sleep, and very necessary! As ever, Sylvia
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